


Piko Has a Nightmare

by SteelDollS



Series: Piko Stories [2]
Category: Vocaloid
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood, Burns, Ceremonies, Character Death, Child Abuse, Creampie, Dark, Death, Dim Lighting, Evil Laughter, Explicit Sexual Content, Fear, Gore, Guro, Heterochromia, Horror, Hysteria, Imprisonment, Kidnapping, Kitsune, Knives, M/M, Masks, Nudity, Organ Removal, Panic, Rape, Related to a Vocaloid Song, Scents & Smells, Screaming, Sexual Violence, Snuff, Squick, Stabbing, Strangers, Struggling, Torture, Underage Rape/Non-con, Violence, Vomit, Wound Fucking, Yaoi, kicking, spider - Freeform, splinters, woundfuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-01 04:37:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5192591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteelDollS/pseuds/SteelDollS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Multiple x Piko. Piko wakes up in an unfamiliar room, an unwilling guest. This time, surely, the butterfly ceremony will work, and the vile, eternal curse will be lifted. Gore, torture, blood, NCS, guro, yaoi, vomit, horror, blah blah, etc. (Sorry, Piko. You got the toilet end of the stick once again.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Underneath his hands was congealed, partly crusty, dark fluid. Piko's eyes fluttered open, disoriented. The smell was sick, like someone had vomited a few days ago, and the watery substance, despite its acridity, had somehow grown spores of sour mold, as the silver-haired youth inhaled, then immediately started to cough out the noxious air.

"Where..?" His throat burning from the acidic air, heterochromatic eyes took in the cold, nasty slime that had congealed on his hands and his clothes where he had been laying in it, soaking into the fabric and the bared parts of his skin. "Ugh, wh-what is this?"

Repressing another gag reflex of his own, he stumbled forwards, tying to get away from the noxious pool of... whatever it was. Hitting a hard wall with his shoulder painfully, he reached out and steadied himself. Getting his bearings, the silver-haired child looked around, trying to place his location and seeking an answer as to how he'd arrived there.

The room was small. The walls were uneven. The floor was rough, like it was some sort of cheap cement, with bumps and dips, as though whoever had made it hasn't been careful in smoothing the material out before it had set. But it didn't look grey. Though the light was so dim it was almost impossible to see, Piko could tell that it was a dark color, and that there were varying shades of darkness in different splotches across not just the floor, but also the small, threatening walls.

Feeling with his dirty hands across the walls, Piko navigated and kept himself standing straight, finding what seemed like a hallway leading out. His heart jackhammered in his small, tight chest, and he tried not to take in panic breaths of the foul air that now burned in his lungs and tasted like rotting bile.

Reaching the end of the hallway, the feeling of wood met the child's inquisitive fingertips, and left a few painful splinters in their wake. Piko flinched and cried out, but didn't dare put his disgusting fingers in his mouth to suck the splinters out. He still didn't know what he'd been laying in. He cradled his wrist to his chest, and tried nudging the door open with his foot.

No result. Gathering up his resolve, he reached his trembling hand out once more, braving more splinters of the poor quality wood as he searched for the door handle. Finding it, he shrieked and pulled his hand back quickly. The searing metal left a painful, scorching burn on the sensitive flesh of his palm, and Piko whimpered in real fear this time.

Why was the knob hot? Was this place... wherever it was... on fire? Was Piko going to be burned to death when the fire came through the old splintery door? A sob caught in his throat, and he gasped in more of the foul air in sudden panic, and started to scream for help.

Banging tiny fists against the door in hysteria, screaming in his high-pitched voice, unnoticing the dozens of splinters embedding themselves deep into his fists, his panic gripping him too potently to do anything but scream and try to fight his way out.

Heavy footsteps from outside the door made the wide-eyed, panting child stop his frantic reaction for a sheer moment, before he started to scream anew, desperate for someone to help him, let him out, please, please! A soft, deep chuckle from the other side of the door was almost consumed by the young boy's hysterics, but Piko's terrified, straining ears heard a rumbling murmur, which was rejoined by a different voice, just outside of the door. Then the sound of the knob turning.

Piko backed up slightly, ready to rush the door. But strong, strong arms grabbed him as he made his play to escape, stopping him. He screamed and hit and tried to bite anything that reached him, but it was no good. A white mask with red accents that looked like some sort of stylized kitsune stared back at him in a little better light from the open doorway. The mouth underneath the mask smiled.

Piko's lower lip trembled in fear. The man was lifting him so easily, his strength far outclassing Piko's; his tall, muscular body outclassing Piko's weak, slim, boyish frame in every way that mattered at the moment. As the man held him up, he grabbed at the front of the silver-haired child's clothes, crusted and damp from mysterious fluids that Piko could now see were a gory combination of reds, blacks, and gangrene, and ripped them violently.

"Nn... n- nnn- n...o... no, no, NO, NO! NO!" Piko shrieked, and struggled his thin arms and legs helplessly. "NO! NO! NOO!"

A deep, dark humored chuckle caressed his ear maliciously as the other figure in the doorway was joined by another, then another, and the stranger in the kitsune mask was rubbing thick, strong fingers covered in filth against his soft, soft cheek, hurting him, squeezing his jaw until the child thought the bones might break open.

Struggling was useless, screaming, crying, was useless. Hitting, kicking. One of the figures that had joined lit a small, red lamp that cast gory shadows. Turning with a smile and a sense of satisfied finality, the person with the lamp reached out with a hand covered in a thick, leathery glove, and closed the door.

"Help me," Piko whimpered as the masked figures drew closer to him. "Please. Please. Help me. Help me..."

Smiles, cast in flickering, malicious red light. The scent of acrid bile weighting the claustrophobic and still stale air. Tears burning a trail down his face. The agony of bones being crushed against each other as he was forcefully held up by the stranger kitsune-san. Piko's body started to shake all on its own, and his eyes were wide, pupils small, in terror and in pain.

"Those eyes are unique, aren't they? Let's start with them," A laughing voice with a mild accent, and Piko frantically turned his head, trying to figure out which of the people had spoken. But someone wearing a long kimono and a tanuki mask stepped forwards with a small, very thin knife, that was almost like paper. Piko shrank back as much as he could, but more hands were on his body, ripping at his clothes, ripping at his flesh, leaving bruises and small cuts from sharp fingernails as he began to struggle again in earnest.

"That's good, hold him. These will make beautiful butterfly wings for our collection," an approving tenor voice claimed, as the silver-haired child's eyes widened even further in absolute, abject terror as the thin, paper thin, glinting, silver piece of metal drew close to his pupils and began to cut his skin away.

Screaming, the burning of blood into his eyes blinding him in fluid red, as Piko was unable to move his head; hands held him, everywhere, hands held him! The knife moved with precision, leaving a burning, burning, blinding red that poured into the child's button nose and into his mouth, making him cough and choke and cough again to expel it, just to be able to breathe.

Rough hewn fabric scraped and grated across his oculars, and Piko screamed again. A satisfied face looked at him through the haze of smeared blood before once again, the curtain of red closed over his vision where fragile eyelids once were.

"They're perfect," Kitsune-san said in a rumbling, pleased voice. "This time, we'll be able to resurrect the butterflies fully. I'm sure of it. This time, the ceremony will go smoothly."


	2. Chapter 2

Piko sobbed harshly through the red haze that coated his vision, stinging his eyes and partially blinding him. It was like trying to see through a thick curtain; the flickering red light and sick feeling in his stomach and the sour, rank odor of the close quarters suddenly feeling overwhelming. His body relaxed in counterpoint to his panic; as if going lax would somehow protect him from the predatory smiles glinting out at him from underneath the stylized masks.

The stranger Kitsune-san walked, his grip on the silver-headed boy tight and unforgiving; brooking no struggle and allowing no freedom. The other strangers followed at a close distance. Piko could only make out the vague shadows of their forms moving as he started to sob harshly, his body shaking hard in terror. The man carrying him was bringing him back into the room he had awoken in. A disgusting squishing sound from beneath the man's feet sounded, seeming loud in the shaking boy's ears. Piko whimpered; a high-pitched whine of incomprehension and terror. Why was this happening to him?

"Are there any other parts you want to try to keep in tact for our collection?" One of the other voices than Kitsune-san's asked in a low tone. It wasn't addressed to Piko, but he panted loudly in renewed fear. Parts?

"His eyes themselves are beautiful; memorable. But I don't think they would preserve well. We should focus on what we really need for the butterfly ceremony. I don't have to tell you what's at stake this time. If we don't satisfy the requirements; if we don't get the soul we need to please the one we extol, it'll go badly for the next 100 generations of our family as well. We can't afford to fail again." Kitsune-san replied quietly, his voice soft but with an edge of tension in it.

The other stranger nodded, perhaps; the blob of shape that Piko could make out through the red haze wasn't clear enough to tell for sure. "The problem last time was due to not knowing which organ the soul had truly lodged itself into. This time, we have to make sure to separate it from each of them before making the sacrifice. Make sure we capture its essence. It's necessary."

"P-please... d-don't..." Piko's chest was crushing him, his fast breathing erratic, overwhelmed from panic and fear. These guys were going to kill him. They were insane. They were insane, were going to kill him. His high voice cracked with the fear. His high voice shook from fear. "Why... why are you doing this?"

"I'm sorry, but, it has to be a member of our family line. You may be from one of the outer families, but you're still a direct descendant. It's easy to tell; just from looking at you. Feel proud. Your sacrifice will save our family from this irreverent, eternal curse," Kistune-san's breath was hot and moist against his neck, causing a terrified shiver as tears welled up in Piko's eyes and washed some of the redness away for a brief moment; like windshield fluid squirting on a car without wipers.

"I want to go home," The silver-haired child choked out, his body shaking harder as he began to keen and struggle again. Hands gripped him, stopped him, held him prisoner as he started to wail again. "I want to go home! Please don't kill me! Please don't kill me; don't hurt me! Help, help me, please! Help me!"

Ignoring the hysterics, the strangers gathered around him exchanged glances; some grim, some hopeful, some smiling in what could only be defined as a sick pleasure.

"Shh, shh, Piko, shh. It'll hurt, but we'll take good care of your corpse afterwards," a soft voice whispered near his ear. Piko hiccuped, terrified, still struggling the little amount that his tiny body could manage. Trying to wiggle away, to get to freedom. The acrid scent of the air filling his lungs with the panic breaths he was taking burned and felt like sickness.

"We'll have to make sure to get every organ," Kitsune-san's head was turned toward another unfamiliar voice. "Make sure to separate the strands of purity so we can harvest the soul. Make sure not to let it escape; we need a beautiful, resurrected butterfly. Sully every orifice fully. Do the heart last."

Something glinted and Piko screamed. The shreds of his clothes were ignored as the sharp, shining, cold thing sliced into his naked belly, making wetness spurt onto the ground warmly, wetly, cooling and pumping fluids from his body as it was opened swiftly. The Tanuki-masked stranger, perhaps, moved in closely as hands held him from every angle, despite his hysterical screams, and something hard probed the insides of his body from the location of the sliced-open wound. Harsh panting of excitement fell from the man's lips.

"Ugn," a voice made a soft sound like a grunt or a moan or a sigh as pain ripped through Piko's body and he spasmed and coughed, choking on his own spittle as he continued to scream hysterically. It hurt, it hurt it hurt! The man was ripping him apart inside. The child's eyes were huge but couldn't see through the continuing curtain of blood from his missing eyelids. "Nnn, it's... it's hot. It's so hot and wet." The man groaned the words softly. "It feels so good! It's SO GOOD! Ohh...Nnghn!"

The squishing sounds reverberated through the child's body as vibrations that he couldn't hear with his ears through the violent screams, as the stranger-san rocked against his body, red blood coating the front of his robes wetly as he groaned, slamming hips forwards, rubbing his hard, weeping cock against the delicate flesh of the smooth, pulsing organ that the knife had unhidden. The intimate, sick caress felt incredible; the thick scent of blood heady. The screams, high-pitched and in agony were truthful, beautiful, real. It would work. This time, it was sure to work. They'd all be freed.

Throwing his head backwards, taking in deep breaths of the scent of the room as if in ecstasy, the man moaned loudly and came hard against the smooth, supple organ. Piko didn't know if it was a kidney, his liver, or what, all he knew is that it hurt worse than anything he'd ever felt before. He started vomiting into his own mouth as his eyes rolled backwards in his head, feeling the burning spunk damaging something irretrievably inside. A rough hand turned his face violently, wrenching his small neck so he didn't aspirate the vomit. So that he didn't die before they were through with him.

Something prodded in his wound, and Piko shrieked again, liquidy vomit and bile dripping from his trembling, gasping, soft and delicate little lips. His body couldn't stop shaking, he couldn't stop crying, but no matter how he struggled, he couldn't break free. And every time he moved it was agony. It was beyond agony. His muscles were too tense to go limp as he hysterically breathed in the acidic air and cried helplessly as the man moved away, and the cold, sharp instrument touched again against his tiny body, against his belly, in a different location this time, and sliced in deeply with precision.

"No no, no no, no," Piko screamed, screamed. Another body moved close, aimed itself into the deep wound, to rape him again inside of his opened body.

It felt like it would never end. The searing, screaming agony, the scent of blood, vomit, and burning flesh, even though there was no fire. Piko could swear something smelled like it was burning. Periods of twisting and screaming, periods of utter laxness and more screaming, crying, sobbing, his chest feeling crushed, his nasal cavities swelling so that he could only take noisy panic breaths of agony through his open, dripping, filthy-tasting mouth.

Begging, wailing. Mindlessly screaming anything that might make the torture stop. The dirty, squishing, burning feeling of the strangers' spunk sullying him in the deepest recesses of his body, dirtying every one of his organs, again and again. Brief moments of respite, then again, again, again. Ripping, tearing, cutting, bleeding, rape in his deepest recesses.

The bloodloss was making him feel dizzy; the room spinning in a haze of terror and unending pain. Piko could feel his body getting weaker, could feel it nearing death. He hiccuped horribly, crying, crying, helpless. Dark bruises on his arms, legs, thighs, wrists. Blood, thick and foul coating everything, slippery and weirdly sticky as it started to dry tackily in places. His naked, dirty body, exposed deeply in the most horrible way. His brain made him feel like he was hallucinating.

It was horrible; it was too horrible. This pain, this nightmare- it couldn't really be happening, could it? It wasn't real, couldn't be real. He'd wake up. He had to wake up. To be safe, clean, warm, at home with his parents. In his bed. It was a nightmare. He had to waken.

"Don't forget his intestines. His intestines and his eyes... before his heart. His heart last; if he dies before we make sure to dirty every organ, the soul might be left pure; able to escape us," Kitsune-san's voice sounded far away through the harsh, panting breaths, low moans, and pounding heartbeat filling Piko's ears like drums. He couldn't think, couldn't escape, could do nothing but react as the torture continued unabated, without any human mercy.

"What about the brain? That's an organ, too. But what do we do; if we sully it, it'll be the end. Should we pick it or the heart?"

"We'll take care of them simultaneously. You still have some stamina left, right?" Tanuki-san's voice sounded like it was speaking in tongues.

"Will this really break the curse? If we can summon all of those failed butterflies in one ceremony. Will it satisfy her? Really?"

"We have no choice. You know what the fated end of cannibalism is. Should we continue to consume our family in madness for the next hundred generations? Is one small child worth taking that chance? One child, who's fated to become a flesh eater himself, even if he survives..? No; this sacred ceremony is our one hope. Dirty the soul without fail. Sully it. Fuck him. Make him filthy, to satisfy the one who can forgive us. Only then can the butterflies take their desired flight."

An ungentle, hard touch on his rear, opening him up, and Piko howled as something firm ripped its way forwards into his anus without preparation or lubrication. Froth on his small mouth as his blood-soaked eyes, the fluid now starting to dry and congeal, turning his vision a solid red, spraying forwards as his tiny body was rocked forcefully. Long moments passed, his little bowels and intestines ripping violently and dripping new blood and feces onto the gore-stained robes of his rapist as he shrieked, screamed, tried to pass out, to wake up, anything, anything! Rough fabric scraped his eyes again, making his vision blurry from the damage, and something other than blood sprayed whitely, burning into his deeply injured heterochromatic eyes.

Howling, begging, all useless, all useless. The air was like drowning. The scent of filth, of blood, of disease. The pain of everything being ripped open, raped, again and again without mercy. The cold sick feeling of hot wetness, slick, followed by drying and cooling in the air. Pain, pain, pain, screams and screams. And something sharp, slicing into his chest, something hurting in his head. Hands holding him still; too still, despite his body's uncontrolled, jerking, twitching, flailing. His lungs screaming without his permission.

And laughter, somewhere on the edge of his hearing, as if far away. Satisfied, completed, happy, delighted laughter, as if in achievement or accomplishment, as something cool burned a path into his chest and something wet shot its way into the inside of his head. Shouts of utter, satisfied ecstasy being reached. His body was shuddering; his breath was shuddering, his eyes were rolled back into his head and could see nothing; the shock and trauma robbing him of his ability to act. The damage to his brain robbing him of his ability to think anymore. Bloody froth dripped down the front of his tiny lips as his unseeing eyes bulged and his body twitched, and breath shuddered.

"Perfect. Now, quickly, while there's still life. Cut the organs out. Carefully! Don't let the soul escape!" Kitsune-san gently lay the shuddering, unresponsive body down on the gore-encrusted, filthy concrete floor, then stepped back to observe with intensity. The surgeon in the Tanuki mask moved quickly; fulfilling his role precisely. Containers surrounding the body were filled within just a few moments with one organ, then another. Kitsune-san's sharp eyes suddenly softened, and he breathed with relief. A soft glow that only he could see throbbed from within the heart muscle, and Piko's chest stopped rising and falling as it was pulled from his chest's cavity.

"We did it. That's it! That's it," Kitsune-san shared a giddy, relieved smile as he picked up the container reverently. "With this... we can summon all the butterflies. Beautiful, captured butterflies. Souls, for the spider's web. We'll be freed, now."

Touching the warm muscle with a tender, delighted, temporarily sated finger, and pulling it away, lightly covered in a white substance that competed with the red coating it all over, Kitsune-san glanced only once at the discarded body bleeding disgustingly on the filthy ground. Stepping over the hole-ridden, leaking corpse, he smiled with delight to himself once more, hope and satisfied pleasure making him feel light.

Surely, this time. This time, it would work. All they needed now was to craft the perfect butterfly wings. His relieved mind going briefly to the eyelids carefully stowed away in his open robe's deep pockets; for the first time in weeks, he felt good. Reaching the inner chamber's door, he went through, and handed his precious burdens off to the shrine maidens awaiting them there. Stepping backwards, bowing deeply, he turned, and, before leaving, took off his mask and gently placed it back in its place of honor over the main mantle.

He bowed twice. Once, to the kitsune mask. And once, to the revered spider mask, in its honored place next to the kitsune one. He closed his violet eyes in gratitude, and then left, his steps feeling light.


End file.
